


Mallow Hallow Snippets

by Crossover_Chick



Series: Forgotten Vows AUs [4]
Category: American McGee's Alice, Corpse Bride (2005)
Genre: Alice only really shows up at the end, Cameos, Chapter 5 is the rape/non-con one, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Weirdness, and the Disney animated Alice is mentioned, basically Victor made a few friends from other fandoms but they're only obliquely mentioned, basically this is all really weird, though a dream-her makes an appearance earlier, you are forewarned!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Chick/pseuds/Crossover_Chick
Summary: It happens in the blink of an eye. He's sitting down in his and Alice's room to draw, rocking absently in his chair -- darkness envelops him, irresistible -- and suddenly, Victor finds himself in the middle of a most curious realm indeed. Not Wonderland, however, but the strange and magical world of Mallow Hallow. Assigned by the rulers to live in the realm of Astralfield -- a place where dreams literally come true -- he's going to have to adapt, make some friends, and see if he can control his sleeping mind's wanderings.And hope that, maybe, one day he'll get to go home.A series of short stories, based on my brief time roleplaying the Forgotten Vows Verse Victor in the Dreamwidth jam-jar "pick your weirdness" game Mallow Hallow. Would take place between "Remembering You" and "Fixing You" in the main series.





	1. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, let's have a retconned-in arrival snippet! It occurred to me, looking over my original set of four short Mallow Hallow stories, that I actually left the series on a pretty dark note, with one of Victor's worst nightmares. I decided that wouldn't do and decided to write a fifth snippet that would wrap things up happily --
> 
> And then I decided that worked best with a snippet showing how Victor GOT to Mallow Hallow in the first place. So here, the previously-unseen and unwritten arrival of Victor in the capital of the country, Lochwell, based on the "premise" post made for the game: http://mallowmods.dreamwidth.org/1069.html Humbrant is a completely original NPC of my own, but the Queen, King, and Victor's informant (who is the "Tronctor" Humbrant mentions) are all from the NPC cast of the game itself. Given I WAS the mod for a while after the original ones left, I think I'm okay in borrowing them.

"Hey. Hey you. Up and at 'em."

The sensation of a stick poking at his ribs brings Victor back to himself with a groan. His eyelids flutter open as he reaches up and rubs his head. What had happened? The last thing he remembers, he was sitting in his and Alice's room, preparing to draw something after retrieving his sketchbook from Abigail (again – he was getting very sick of this "hide Victor's things" game she and the others had come up with recently). . .

Another poke. "Come on, get up! You're late already!"

"Late?" Victor echoes, blinking. "Late for what?" He rolls over onto his back, and finds a face he doesn't recognize looking back at him. Some merchant type, he guesses, in a neat black suit. "Who are you?"

"Mr. Humbrant," the man answers shortly. "And, you, newcomer, need to get yourself to the castle."

"The – castle?" Victor sits up, and with a jolt realizes he's outside. But it's not London – London's sky was never so blue. Nor was it made up of cobbled paths lined with neat rows of flowers, leading to and from cottages covered in ivy. Other people hurry by him on the road – some pausing to look at him curiously, as if he's a new attraction at a circus, others taking no notice of him at all as they go about their business. Victor clutches his sketchbook to his chest to protect it from the tramping feet. "I – I don't understand. . .where am I? W-what's going on?"

"You're in Lochwell, in Mallow Hallow," Humbrant says, offering him a hand up.

Victor accepts it. "I've never heard of such a place," he admits.

"None of the newcomers have. But you're here all the same." Humbrandt indicates a cart nearby. "You can ride with me to the castle. Better than being picked up by the royal guard. The Queen hates a mess, and you newcomers. . .well." Humbrant shakes his head. "Report in and be polite, and she shouldn't give you too much fuss."

Victor swallows and squeezes his sketchbook a little tighter. That's – not encouraging. "She's n-not the Queen of Hearts, is she?" he asks, wondering if he's somehow managed to drop through a break in reality and end up in some new realm of Wonderland.

Humbrant chuckles. "She'd probably like being called that more than her actual name," he says, then gives Victor a small push toward the cart. "Go on, get in. Maybe you'll be lucky and Tronctor will be there when you arrive – and in a good enough mood to explain things."

* * *

"He looks a dreamy sort. I say Astralfield."

"You're sure, my dearest?"

The Queen gives the King a look. "When am I ever _not_ sure?"

The King inclines his head. "Fair enough. Astralfield it is."

"Of course it is." The Queen rises from her throne and glides smoothly toward Victor, snapping her fingers as she goes. A servant in blue livery (almost the same shade as that of the castle itself – Victor likes blue, but even he thinks this is a bit much) comes forward with what looks like a small chalkboard, a piece of blue chalk attached to the side in a special holster. She plucks it from his grasp and offers it to Victor. "There you are, deary," she says, all sugary sweetness that's just a bit too good to be true. "Be good for us, won't you? Me and my husband just _hate_ cleaning up after others. That's why we've never had children, isn't that right, sweet?"

The King hums in agreement. "There are directions are in your device there. Pay very close attention, and enjoy your stay, my sweet, new arrival!"

"T-thank you," Victor manages to get out through the whirl of confusion in his head. Despite Humbrant suggesting he would get answers at the castle, barely anyone's said two words to him before now, instead just shoving him in here so the royal family could argue about where he belongs without even consulting him. _Not that I could offer an informed opinion. . . ._ He takes the chalkboard (wondering why she called it a 'device.' It's just a chalkboard – right?) and inclines his head, as is only polite. "I w-wonder–"

But the Queen has already tired of him, it seems – another snap of her fingers, and the servants crowd around and gently but firmly push him out of the receiving room. The doors slam shut with a very final _BOOM._ Victor stares at them, then at the chalkboard. Where is he supposed to go from here?

"Oh, for – another one? Please tell me you're not in Crystalden."

Victor looks up to see a man in a severe gray suit glaring at him as if his very existence annoys him. "Ah – no," he says. "They said something about an Astralfield."

The man relaxes slightly. "One of Colt's, then. Good, I don't have to worry about you." He pushes past, clearly determined to just forget Victor exists and get on with his day.

Victor, however, has had enough. He's lost, he's confused, and he wants some bloody answers, damn it. He spins around and snags the man's sleeve. "Wait! I don't know where Astralfield is, or what it is, or – or anything! And nobody seems inclined to tell me! At _least_ explain how I could go from an orphanage in the middle of Whitechapel to this place in the blink of an eye!"

The man scowls – but then either notes the take-no-nonsense Swell-That-Walks-Whitechapel frown Victor's sporting, or the terror he can't quite hide in his eyes, and sighs, turning to face him. "I can't tell you the specifics," he admits. "But Mallow Hallow seems to be built on top of a very annoying temporal-spacial anomaly. One that likes to pull things in from other universes. Things – and people. You're not the first one to wake up unconscious on the Lochwell roads."

Victor had guessed that, given how unbothered everyone had seemed by his sudden appearance. "So – I've been sucked into another universe?"

"That's the short of it. The Queen's decided Astralfield should be your home while you're here – it's one of the districts. It's not far – just follow Road Three when you leave the castle, and you'll find your way there soon enough. The people who live there can explain that place better than I can."

"All right." The man's clearly itching to go, but Victor has to ask one thing more. "I – do you have any idea–"

"You can't go home," the man cuts in, anticipating the end of that question. "Trust me, if I could send you back, I would. We're working on it. Just keep your nose clean in the meantime. And try not to break anything."

Patience apparently at its end, the man sweeps away, walking through the doors like he owns the place. Victor watches him go, a cold spot in the middle of his stomach. This morning, everything had been so normal – so happy, even. And now. . . .

_You can't go home._

His voice comes out in a whisper, barely scratching the walls of the wide, empty room. "But – I'm – kind of engaged. . . ."


	2. Soak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now for the original snippets. First up on the adventures of Victor in Mallow Hallow -- Victor investigating his new living quarters! Which he came across rather unusually -- you see, in the domain he lived in, Astralfield, everyone who came in from the outside was assigned a hotel room in the local hotel. And they found out about this assignment by falling asleep somewhere, only to wake up IN said hotel room. (The domain actually had a strict bedtime of 10 PM, in fact -- no matter where you were at the time, you fell asleep, and you always woke up in your hotel room the next morning.) Victor spent most of his first couple of days getting to know his fellow refugees (via that chalkboard from the arrival -- it turned out to be a magical communication device. Trust me, standard for that sort of game), but I figured that, at some point, the confused Victorian would want to explore his more modern new home... (Also, yes, Victor wouldn't be familiar with modern toothpaste or shampoo and conditioner. Victorians used teeth-cleaning powders instead, and bar soaps for their hair. And yes, they'd definitely have the toilet in a different part of the house from the bath! Early toilets weren't the most hygienic, you see...)

_So – where precisely have I ended up?_  
  
Victor looks around the room – 6988, according to the gold numbers on the hallway door – that he now must call home. He’s had a busy morning – panicking about waking up in a place that he’s quite certain he didn’t go to sleep in, meeting with Kurloz and showing off his artwork, gaping at that video of the young alien lady fighting the hydra, and having that little art contest (and moment of extreme confusion – seriously, a blonde Alice? And books and a “movie” – whatever that is – about Wonderland?) with Alex – and none of it left much time for exploring just where he’s expected to live. Now, though, his chalkboard’s gone quiet ( _rack that up as another thing I never thought I’d say, even to myself_ ), the sun is still safely lighting the sky, and as far as he can tell, he has no immediate obligations. Time to investigate his surroundings a little more.  
  
He gets up from the bed and stands in front of the front door, mentally making a list of the things he’s been provided with. One bed – about king-size, he thinks, and much more comfortable than the one in Whitechapel. One nightstand with a lamp next to that. One small desk with a lamp and chair in its own little corner near the window. One squat dresser for clothes – _not that that helps me any,_ he thinks, frowning down at his single suit. One small round table with two chairs on the opposite side of the bed, closer to the door. Near that, one counter with what appears to be a coffee maker. (Victor wonders briefly what would happen if you drank a cup right at the 10 P.M. time limit. Would it have no effect, or would the caffeine just not kick in until morning?) Also one strange white box with two subsections that appears to be a small icebox that doesn’t need actual ice to stay cool. (Magic? Science? He’s already got an inkling that he hasn’t just been transported to another world, but to another time. People keep referencing things he’s never heard of. He’ll have to do some research.) One closet – again, of no help to him until he finds out where to get new clothes. And – opening a door almost directly to the right of the front door – one bathroom that also appears to be a loo, given that it has a toilet in it.  
  
It’s that room that intrigues him the most right at the moment, to be honest. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before. (Well, there are a lot of things here that are like nothing he’s ever seen before, but. . . .) When he stumbled in there this morning, he’d been shocked to find the toilet, bath, and sink so close to each other. Wasn’t that unsanitary? And why was the cistern of the toilet so close to the bowl? Surely this couldn’t be right. But nature had called, and he had answered, and to his surprise, when he flushed, there was nothing more than a woosh of water. No faint smell, no worries that the notoriously-fussy plumbing would not do its job. And the sink – he’d just been able to turn a tap, and hot water had come gushing out. That _stayed_ hot, no matter how long it ran. He grins as he remembers catching sight of his confused but delighted face in the bathroom mirror. Indoor plumbing. Real running water. And Mother had been so proud of their toilet shoved into its little closet downstairs that required its own personal night soil man to keep it running right.  
  
He wanders into the room, taking another look around. Toilet, sink, a cabinet with a few essentials (very tiny essentials – what was the point of making a thing of tooth-cleaning paste if you were going to make it so _small_?), and a most curious bathtub. Victor crouches down and examines the edges. It’s of a sleek white material, cold to the touch, and appears to be fastened into the walls and floor. _Then again, I suppose you don’t really need to move it when it’s got its own pipes that bring the water straight to you,_ he thinks, looking at the spout protruding from one end. He glances up at the mysterious other metal thing set high on the wall above the tub’s taps. _I wonder what that funny round bit at the top is? It’s got holes – does it rain water down on you, like from a cloud? Heh, I bet the children at Whitechapel would have liked that for their bath –_  
  
Bath.  
  
Something clicks in Victor’s mind then. He has a bath. He has a bath _all to himself_. He has a bath all to himself with a seemingly _limitless_ supply of hot running water.  
  
Suddenly, for a few bright shining moments, the fact that he’s trapped in a strange world with strange technology and strange (if refreshingly friendly so far) people no longer matters. Victor strips off his clothes as fast as he can, fills the tub, unwraps the soap, examines the little bottles labeled “shampoo” and “conditioner” and dubs them something he’ll use later, and climbs in. The water is clear and hot and _wonderful_ – better than even the baths he took at home. Victor sighs deeply, slumping against the back of the tub. The rest of his questions – the whole rest of the world – can wait for a while.  
  
He’s _earned_ this soak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other characters mentioned:
> 
> * Kurloz and the alien lady fighting the hydra are both Homestuck characters
> 
> *Alex is from the "The Wizards At Waverly Place," the Disney Channel show (and obviously mentioned the Disney animated Alice to Victor)


	3. Necessities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another round of "how would a displaced Victorian make his way in a totally new and strange world" thoughts in this snippet. Wondering what he would do for food, clothing, and other necessaries, and how he would react to the more modern variations of each (yes, he lived before pre-sliced bread was a thing!) poked at me until I wrote it all down. The domains were pretty vaguely defined when I joined the game, so I took some liberties and created a few stores for Victor to buy what he needed. Hey, it's a world of dreams come to life -- most anything could show up there, right? Also, just for fun -- those sandwich cookies Victor falls in love with? Not Oreo -- HYDROX. You know, the brand everyone thinks is an Oreo ripoff but which actually came first. I figured you could probably still get them in Astralfield (all it would take is someone dreaming them up), and the subtle joke always gave ME a giggle.

To Victor’s relief, there are normal places in this world of dreams run wild. The landscape can become more fractured and mad than any place in Wonderland, but where the buildings stand and what’s inside them remains more or less constant. Not far from his hotel (although can one really call it a ‘hotel’ if he’s living there?), Victor discovers the local grocery. There’s a lot of items stacked on the shelves or piled in the bins that he doesn’t know, but there’s also plenty that he does, and that’s a comfort. Not having any way to cook (and not really knowing how beyond putting meat between bread – the one time he tried to make himself soup, he burned himself on the kitchen stove), he buys – or, well, _takes_ , since money doesn’t seem to exist in this world, at least not for people like him – simple things that don’t need much preparation. A basketful of fruit – apples and oranges and bananas, all things he can eat quickly whenever the mood strikes him. Slices of turkey and ham and chicken, and Swiss and provolone and cheddar, all of which can be preserved in the icebox until it’s time for lunch or dinner. Bread he knows will keep long enough for him to make plenty of sandwiches – and wonder of wonders, it comes pre-sliced now! How convenient! Muffins and bagels will also keep just long enough, and make decent breakfasts to boot. And there’s also the more exotic items in their cardboard boxes and strange plastic packaging, promising instant food in a variety of puzzling and intriguing flavors – curious, he “purchases” a few, hoping they’ll live up to their grand claims.  
  
As with everything in life, some do, some don’t. Granola bars prove to be a good investment – they’re quick to eat, quite tasty, and seem poised to keep for a good long while. The “soup in a cup” (which he makes by heating water in the coffee maker – what else is he going to use it for?), by contrast, turns out to be more or less powdered Houndsditch chicken noodle. The chocolate sandwich biscuits with the white filling are bloody delicious and far too easy to nearly eat an entire package of in one sitting. The flavored milks are a mixed bag – he doesn’t think much of coffee flavor, but strawberry’s decent enough, and chocolate nearly as addictive as those horrible, wonderful biscuits. The pressed rice cakes, on the other hand, are uniformly flavorless, and he has no idea who on earth would eat them. They’re too dull even for _Burtonsville_. Overall, though, the food is good. None of it is haute cuisine – he’s surviving off baked goods, sandwiches, and a host of snack foods – but it keeps him going, and that’s all he can really ask of it. And it’s probably safer than any trotter or meat pie he ever bought off a Whitechapel street salesman.  
  
Clothing is a different adventure. There’s such a wide variety of styles and colors and fabrics in this world that he’s lost the moment he walks into the store. Fortunately, the owner takes pity on him and leads him over to the suits. The cuts are different than Victor remembers, but the basic concept is the same, and that’s all he needs to know. He picks four – one in dark grey, two in black, and one in navy blue – and has them altered to fit his absurdly skinny frame. The tailor is a kind man who takes Victor’s nerves in stride, and even alters the cut of his new outfits slightly so that they’ll match his old suit better – something Victor is incredibly grateful for. Shirts (he’s surprised to discover collars and cuffs don’t come separately anymore – at least it means he doesn’t have to worry about misplacing them), ties, waistcoats, socks, and – underthings (why have drawers gotten so much shorter??) are also procured, along with a long heavy coat for any winter weather that might be dreamed up. Victor happily puts it all away into his closet and dresser once he’s back home. He’s not sure how he’s going to do his laundry just yet, but at least he’s not restricted to just one well-worn suit anymore. And these suits should last him much longer, given that the air here is not filled with smog and the streets with various bits of filth. _Pathetic, really,_ he thinks to himself as he grabs an apple from its place on the table. _Only a couple of days into this new adventure, and already Astralfield is miles above Whitechapel.  
  
But then again, a _sewer _would be miles above Whitechapel._


	4. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This snippet focuses on Victor dealing with Astralfield's special quirk during his days in Mallow Hallow -- the fact that, within its borders, dreams come to life. (Well, also that the domain automatically puts you to sleep by a certain hour, but that's less important to these stories.) What writer could pass an opportunity like THAT up? Here I'm exploring some of the nicer dreams Victor had during his stay, based off his past and experiences he had in the game world (like learning some people know Alice as a blonde, instead of a brunette). It ends on kind of a sad note, but hey, he didn't have a nightmare, right?
> 
> Yeah, that's the next snippet.

His first night, knocked abruptly unconscious on an old wooden bench in the great wide open, he dreams of white mushrooms with glowing green stripes on their caps, and butterflies made of bread and butter, and grasshoppers whose bodies are teapots, and bright red bleeding-heart-type flowers that light up as you pass. He’s never seen any of these things in reality, but, thanks to Alice’s stories and artwork, he feels he knows them intimately.  
  
He sees them in reality the next day. And while it’s slightly embarrassing to have something from his mind made manifest for all to see, it’s also kind of comforting. Alice may not be with him in the flesh, but being buzzed by bread-and-butterflies and watching the flowers glow as he walks by makes him feel like she’s here in spirit.  
  


* * *

  
Alex’s talk about movies and books prompts a dream where he finds himself in a library, with a huge leather-bound tome set out before him. The title is faded gold leaf, and reads simply, “Wonderland.” When he opens it, spidery black words crawl across the pages, spelling out the stories that Alice has regaled him with time and time again. And the illustrations move as if they were alive, showing the Lion and the Unicorn fighting for the crown, the ugly Duchess sneezing her skull wide open, the Hatter enjoying a tea party with the March Hare and the Dormouse, and the Queen of Hearts losing her own head to the Vorpal Blade.  
  
He finds the book lying outside on the ground the next day, as if in wait. He willingly falls for its trap and reads through it again, watching the scenes play out in ink and paper theater. It’s accurate as far as he can remember – except that the Alice in the illustrations is blonde.  
  
 _Why on earth did Alex think she was blonde?_ he wonders with a frown, shutting the book. _Why did this ‘Disney’ think that? Couldn’t they find a photograph or painting of her, showing what color her hair truly was?_  
  
Unless. . .unless they did, and she just happens to _be_ blonde where Alex comes from.  
  
That’s a weird thought, and he’s not sure he likes it.  
  


* * *

  
He dreams of a church at night, and sad blue eyes set in a sad blue face, and butterflies silhouetted against the moon. It’s a bittersweet dream, and the end, with the aching knowledge of what will come after this moment of peace for the most unfortunate bride, pulls him out of sleep earlier than normal.  
  
The butterflies flutter outside his window as dawn tints the sky pink, still aglow with impossible moonlight. He tries using a fountain pen he’s procured to draw them. He gets a halfway-decent sketch, but – it just doesn’t feel right. He needs his quills if he wants to capture the true magic of this place properly. _I should see if there’s any place where I could buy one or two. . . ._  
  


* * *

  
He dreams of music. Of gleaming keyboards and tuning strings and a passion he can express no other way. He dreams of his parents’ music room, and the Everglots’ front hall, and the Ball & Socket’s private corner, and Houndsditch’s front foyer as he recalls every composition he’s ever put to paper and every little tune that’s wormed its way into his ear.  
  
The piano – an upright like Houndsditch’s, bathed in the colors of the Land of the Dead, with a gold Harryhausen nameplate like the one the Everglots’ instrument boasted and the same perfect pitch as his parents’ expensive monster – blocks his way out of his room the next day, but he doesn’t care. He just sits on the stool and plays, taking only the briefest of breaks for food and toilet. A hall doorway isn’t the most private place in the world to play, but Victor completely ignores any people who may be lingering nearby, utterly lost in his music. He pours out all his feelings, all his wonder and worry, into the notes, stopping only when the clock in his room warns him the time of sleep is approaching. And then he examines the piano from top to bottom with a watchmaker’s eye before he retires for the night, fixing the image of it in his mind so he’ll dream of it again.  
  
The next day, the piano obligingly returns – but it’s not outside his door. Rather, Victor finds it on the roof of the building, apparently enjoying the morning sun. _This could be a problem,_ he realizes. _Even if I do dream of it again tonight, who knows where it might end up the next morning? No, this just won’t do._ He reluctantly adds “find out if there’s any way I can get some sort of piano into my room – a real one” to his list of things to do. A full-size one probably won’t fit in his limited space, but he’s heard that there’s some sort of amazing technological wonderland right next door to Astralfield. Surely they’ve come up with a way to shrink one?  
  
In the meantime, though, he makes himself a picnic lunch and supper, then spends more happy hours on the roof, indulging in his music once more.

* * *

  
He dreams of her – of those shining green eyes, that tousled dark hair, those pale tea rose lips. He dreams of her sitting beside him at the piano, smiling brightly as he pours out his feelings for her in song. He dreams of her standing before a cracked and faded mirror, decrying the ugliness of her green dress while he stands to the side and thinks that nothing could look ugly while on her (although, admittedly, that frock does come close). He dreams of them waltzing again to the tune of the music box, ignoring the jibes and teasing from the crowds of children and the disapproving glares of his parents and a certain doctor. He dreams of them sitting outside in the grass that never actually existed in the East End, watching a sunset that’s far too gorgeous to be real.  
  
He dreams of the feel of her arms around him in a comforting embrace, and the taste of her lips pressed against his.  
  
She’s sitting at the table when he opens his eyes that morning, clad in her favorite black-and-white dress. Her eyes are bright, her hair is slightly messy, and her beautiful pink lips are curved in a slight, welcoming smile. She’s even got two muffins and two bottles of milk on the table, clearly ready to share a nice breakfast with him.  
  
He breaks down crying, because it’s too perfect to believe. “You’re not her,” he whispers over and over again. “You’re _not her_.”  
  
But he doesn’t have the strength to order her to go away. And when her arms slip around him, they almost – _almost_ – feel exactly like the real thing. “I’m all you’ve got,” she tells him – no rancor, no sarcasm, no bitterness. Just plain honest truth.  
  
So he spends the day with her. Tells her about how he’s settling in. How he’s talked to a death-loving alien and an excitable pink pony and a green-haired woman who knows even more than he does what it’s like to lose yourself. How this world has given him mushrooms and butterflies and pianos all based on his sleeping brain’s wonderings. How he’s making sure to keep good thoughts in mind before 10 P.M. every night because he’s terrified of what will happen if he has a nightmare. How he’s growing to kind of like it here, but he still misses home a bit. And she listens attentively, nodding and smiling and throwing out the occasional playful or sarcastic comment. Just as if she were real.  
  
But he can’t quite make himself believe she’s real. And while he spills his heart out to her, he doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t do anything more affectionate beyond hold her hand. And when he wakes up the next morning and she’s no longer there, he’s partly relieved that this world can no longer mock him with Alice’s absence.  
  
And partly devastated – because who knows when he’ll get to see her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters mentioned:
> 
> "Alex" -- Alex Russo, from _Wizards of Waverly Place_
> 
> "death-loving alien" -- Kurloz Makara from _Homestuck_
> 
> "excitable pink pony" -- Pinkie Pie from _My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic_
> 
> "green-haired woman who knows even more than he does what it’s like to lose yourself" -- Terra Brandford from _Final Fantasy VI_


	5. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING: RAPE IMAGERY AHEAD**
> 
> Yup, we've come to the bad one, folks. I delayed it for as long as I could in the game (even "warming up" with a different nightmare about being trapped in an asylum like Rutledge which led to him waking up in a straitjacket -- fortunately his friend Terra came and rescued him), but I knew it was inevitable Victor would have a nightmare about what Bumby did to him. And I knew it would be creepy as fuck. Hence keeping it to a short fic sequence rather than forcing someone to roleplay it out with me. (I DID do a thread about the aftermath -- funnily enough, it was PINKIE PIE who showed up and comforted him this time.) There's nothing too explicit here beyond forced undressing, but I think it's pretty disturbing all the same. Mostly because of all that's implied. Victor needs all the hugs...

There’s fingers on his shoulders, digging into his skin, clamping him onto the bed. A heavy weight settles atop his body, pushing him down further, crushing him into the mattress. The figure above him _looks_ human, except his eyes are nothing more but the blank white lenses of a pair of glasses, and his teeth are needle-sharp in his mouth, and his beard is a trail of dripping black ooze. Victor struggles to escape, but he’s trapped, pinned beneath this monstrosity, this horror –   
  
**_“Don’t struggle, Thirteen,”_** the creature whispers, words poisonously sweet as he caresses Victor’s cheek. _**“It won’t do you any good. You’re mine – and you always will be.”**  
  
Victor,_ he wants to roar, _my name is Victor and you’re dead and you can never hurt me again!_ But when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out – his voice is stuck in his throat, unable to break free. He settles for glaring, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed almost to slits.  
  
The creature barely seems to notice, however. **_“You’ve been a very bad boy, Thirteen – pretending you’re anything other than what you are,”_** he scolds, though his smile never leaves his face. **_“Why don’t I remind you?”_**  
  
Long tendrils of pitch-colored goo – Ruin, Alice called it, and it seems more than appropriate – suddenly appear, slithering up from the floor. They promptly begin shredding his clothes, throwing scraps of jacket and pants and tie into the far corners of the room. Victor tries to swat them away, but one seizes his wrists and pulls them above his head while another binds his legs, leaving him helpless against the assault. The creature grins above him. **_“Much better,”_** he purrs, running his fingers through Victor’s hair. **_“My little toy, to dress and undress and take as I please. . . .”_**  
  
As he squirms in the tentacles’ grip, Victor wishes desperately for a weapon – something, _anything_ he could use to wipe the smirk off that horror’s face. The image of the barbecue fork he used to battle Barkis swims before his eyes – oh yes, he’d be content with even that. Alice battles with a butcher’s knife, after all. All it needs is a slight upgrade – sharper tines, an edge on one side, perhaps a few curling vines and butterflies for decoration –   
  
The last of his clothes are ripped off, leaving his pale body exposed to the world. The creature drinks him in with his glasses, snickering. **_“And you really thought you could get away,”_** he says. **_“Go ahead and say it – ‘I don’t deserve a name. . . .’”_**  
  
To his horror, Victor can feel the words forming on his lips. He chokes them back, swallows them down – _never again_ – and instead manages to hiss, “I’m no toy.”  
  
The creature laughs cruelly. **_“Elizabeth thought that too – and look what happened to her,”_** he says, as the Ruin holding Victor captive abruptly flips him over and forces his knees under him, pushing his arse up toward the monster. **_“Oh, it took me some time, but I broke you,”_** the creature adds as he firmly grabs each cheek, and somehow his touch is both slimy and burning. **_“You’re never going to be the person you once were, Thirteen. You’re weak, and helpless, and_ worthless _. And there’s no Alice here to save you this time.”_**  
  
Victor can’t answer, can’t shout the defiance he so desperately wants to. His body’s frozen in fear, his mind screaming _No not again not again_. . .the creature’s – _Bumby’s_ hot breath suddenly rushes across his ear, and he hears, **_“You’ll make a lovely consolation prize–”_**  
  
And then he wakes with a scream.  
  
Only to scream again when he sees what’s oozing from the walls of his room.


	6. Departures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the final chapter, which -- like the new first chapter -- was written way later than the bulk of the work. When I first started posting the original four snippets, I realized that I REALLY didn't want to leave things on the dark note of "Nightmare," and that it might be nice to have something that both wrapped up Victor's time in Mallow Hallow and reunited him with Alice. So I looked back at the last thread he had there (a sleepover thread with two of his friends in the pillow-based district of Mallowhallow), and whipped up this. I think it serves as a suitable end to his two months in another universe. (In-game -- out of game, it was a bit longer.)

The first thing Victor notices as he stirs from sleep is that the makeshift pillow bed Doll created for them suddenly has a lot more bumps in it. The second thing he notices is that the air smells _awful –_ is someone burning something? Oh cripes, has Pinkie tried to make more snacks and then gotten distracted by something and left them in the oven? His eyes snap open as he sits up, ready to stop poor Doll's pillow-house from possibly going up in flames –

Only to find himself in a room he hasn't seen in two months.

His jaw drops. It's all as he remembers it – the creaky old floor, the crummy lumpy mattress, the peeling green wallpaper, the cracks in the ceiling. . .even his and Alice's pictures, pinned up wherever there's space. He reaches over and pinches himself. No, not dreaming. . .was Mallow Hallow a dream, then? It's not outside the realm of possibility that he rocked too far back in his chair while pondering his sketch and somehow managed to tip over and knock himself out. . .but he remembers it was raining when he left, and now there's sunshine streaming in through the window –

"Victor?"

And he doesn't think Alice would sound that desperately glad to see him if he'd simply been sleeping for a while.

He jumps off the bed as she lunges into the room, and they meet in the middle in a tangle of limbs, lips bruising against each other in delirious bliss. Victor wraps her in his arms, trying to press as much of her against him as possible. She's delightfully warm and solid in his embrace – not mere words on a chalkboard, not a dream-maiden from his subconscious, but the real thing, the real woman he'd missed so, so badly. . . "Alice," he whispers as they're finally forced to break for air. "Oh, I missed you. . ."

"Not as much as I missed you," Alice insists, squeezing him tight. "What _happened_? Charlie says you walked into our room, and then just – disappeared! I must have gone all over London trying to figure how you could just _vanish_ like that! I even found this man, Fixxler, who got me to the Land of the Dead so we could check there, but nothing – where _were_ you?"

"It's – I'm not sure how to explain it, but I somehow ended up in another world," Victor explains, holding her at arm's length. "It – sort of – _ate_ people at random, and – well, I was stuck there. I wanted to come home, I promise, but they told me there was no way back. . .I don't know why it suddenly spit me back out." Although. . .thinking about it, Mallow Hallow had seemed to be getting more and more unstable near the end of his stay. That accident with the portal controls leading to an influx of random debris from other planes, the appearance of the foggy district that had so scared the governors and Doll, the fact that people seemed to be slowly but surely disappearing from the network. . .maybe that anomaly Tronctor had told him about had finally collapsed in on itself. Maybe Mallow Hallow is simply no more.

That's – a very sad thought. Victor sighs deeply. He's glad to be home, achingly glad, but – he's going to miss that place. For all the strangeness and occasional horror it inflicted on him, he'd come to enjoy living there. Astralfield – it had been fun, for the most part, to see all those dreams come to life. To navigate a world where magic was the norm, not the exception. And he'd grown used to his comfortable hotel bed, the indoor plumbing, and the fresh air. He makes a face as the constant stink of London's smog assaults his nose again. It's going to be a rough transition back to Houndsditch's rather poorer amenities.

And then there's the matter of his friends. He'd made more of them in two months in another universe than he'd ever made living his whole life in Burtonsville and London. Were Kurloz and Pinkie and Terra and Doll and all the others safely transported home too? God, he hopes so. And the Mallow Hallow natives – were they given a chance to evacuate before the end? Find a new home? Perhaps the final collapse reversed their situation, and now _they_ are the newcomers in the various worlds he and the others were taken from. Or maybe. . .

No, he's not going to follow that thought to the end. It's much too depressing. He'd much rather believe they're still alive. Perhaps struggling to make sense of new surroundings, but – well, he'd adapted. He's sure the rest of them can too. And everyone like him must be as thrilled as he is to be back where they belong. He hopes, anyway. He sighs a little. While it's definitely good that everything's gone back to normal. . .they were easily the best part of his whole adventure. _I'm really going to miss them._

Alice caresses his cheek. "Victor? Are you all right?"

Victor puts his hand over hers. "Mostly," he admits. "It's just – there's so much to tell you, and I don't–"

"Victor?"

Victor starts, then looks around. That's – but how – she couldn't have –

Alice, however, seems to have already pinpointed the voice, given how she's staring at their bed. "That's. . .not our pillow. And – did it just talk?"

Victor whirls back toward the bed. Sure enough, there's a new blue pillow at the head of the mattress, replacing the old white one. A blue pillow that he knows is from Doll's fort. . .and hadn't he, before going to sleep, tucked away. . .he hurries over and picks it up. Sure enough, underneath is his sketchbook, the spellbook he'd found during the portal incident, a few leftover Hydrox cookies wrapped in a napkin –

And his chalkboard communicator, currently displaying the face of a familiar pink pony. "Pinkie!"

"Victor!" Pinkie Pie bounces up and down. "Oh, wow, that was a weird sleepover, huh? I went to sleep in Mallowhallow and woke up in Equestria! I hope Doll doesn't think I just ran out on him!"

"I don't think so," Victor assures her with a laugh. "I'm back in London. I think we all went back home, Pinkie."

"Oh! Aww, I wanted to make everybody muffins," Pinkie says, pouting briefly. Then she perks up again. "But at least I can still talk to you! And maybe everybody else too! Oooooh – and I can introduce you to all my other friends too! Maybe even the Princesses! We can have a big coming-home party all together!"

"That sounds great, Pinkie," Victor says, beaming. He picks up the chalkboard and brings it over to the baffled-looking Alice. "I've got some friends I need to introduce you to as well."

Seems like he won't have to give up the best parts of Mallow Hallow after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->The two incidents near the end of Mallow Hallow's lifespan Victor mentions -- the random debris storm through the portals and the appearance of the foggy district -- were the two events I modded before I bowed to the inevitable and shut down the game.
> 
> \-->Kurloz, Terra, and Pinkie have all been mentioned in previous chapters, but Doll was a _Persona_ -based OC (a big friendly plastic doll of shadow-stuff who communicated mainly by horribly-spelled texts) that Victor got friendly with near the end of the game's run. Pinkie Pie's brief speaking role here was okayed by her mun (and my pal) Moose.
> 
> \-->Yes I let him keep a few of his Hydrox cookies, I'm not THAT cruel~


End file.
